Chapter 12: The Unexpected Catalyst
Wendy pulled her lace sleeves over her hands as best she could, though sure it wouldn't help much. She looked through the window and observed the mellowing skies, which were now progressively getting darker by the day and beginning to veil London with a faint murkiness. Thinking about just how abruptly winter was arriving, the young woman sat up in her chair, resting a hand on her corset-ridden stomach. Just a few days ago it had been a mild, even sunny day, but now, she was looking out at a sky that was nearly promising snow. She sighed at the thought, knowing that she had most likely seen the last bright day in London for a long while; she knew that when the city fell to winter, it fell hard, looming under a seemingly unbreakable spell that lasted months and months. The warm days she do dearly loved were out of sight.
"Alright, I just know I've got it this time."
Wendy turned her eyes away from the window to Tootles sitting next to her at the dining table. She'd been helping him with his arithmetic homework since coming home from school nearly an hour ago, and the poor boy had barely finished even one problem correctly on his own.
"Let's have a look then." She took the homework paper in her hands and quickly scanned the scratch work of numbers, squinting at the places where Tootles had crossed out his mistakes. "Hmm…Two, goes into nineteen, bring down the zero, goes into fifteen…yes, yes…bring down the eight…"
"Hah. Wendy, you sound like Father when he's calculating our finances!" Tootles interjected with an amused grunt. He grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie from a plate Mrs. Darling had set down on the table a few minutes ago and stuffed it into his mouth.
Wendy shot her brother a mocking glare before setting the paper back in front of him.
"Now Mr. Smart-mouth, check this part again, where you're dividing 108 by 20," she directed, pointing to Tootles' error. "And did you not hear Mother when she said those cookies were for later?"
Tootles frowned, wiping away the crumbs that had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
"You're really becoming more like them…" he grumbled. "Father and Mother."
Wendy crossed her arms over the table and cocked her head to the side to look more directly at her brother. "Not that you're implying there's a problem with it…? If there's anyone worth looking up to, it's Father and Mother. Wouldn't you say?"
Tootles shrugged his shoulders and mumbled a few quiet words that faded off into an imperceptible whisper. He looked down to his homework paper and trailed the numbers on it with his finger.
"What was that you said?" Wendy looked down at Tootles' lowered head.
"Nothing." He kept his stare lowered and tapped his pencil against his paper as if he were analyzing one of the math problems.
Wendy moved her head nearer to her brother's and rested a hand lightly on his back, now realizing the troubled air about him.
"Tootles?"
He shook his head.
"Tootles?"
A few silent seconds passed before he finally looked back up at Wendy with a grudging stare.
"I…I just miss old you."
Hearing this, Wendy sighed. There it was. Resurrected.
She'd gone through this many times before when she'd first been uprooted from the nursery over three years ago, and it had taken many months for it to pass over. But to Wendy, the fact that it had passed over vied no logical reason to why Tootles had just now suddenly brought it up. She looked at him, and remembered all the heartrending faces of her brothers as she had told them that "all children grow up," and how, at thirteen, her turn had come. There was nothing she could have done; she knew this. And after some time, she'd convinced herself that it was not her brothers she'd abandoned, only a disintegrating childhood that came with of life. But why, then, was guilt presently creeping into Wendy at that exact moment?
"Tootles, what has brought this on?" she asked after some thought, gently taking away from his hand the pencil he'd still been tapping his homework paper with. "We went through this far too long ago for you to say such a thing. You know very well that all children g—"
"Grow up. I know."
"Then what's wrong?"
"It's just that…Well, Michael mentioned your stories the other day."
"Which? Cinderella?"
"No."
"Sleeping Beauty?"
"No."
"What, then?"
"Well, pirates…and the like."
"Pirates?" Wendy grinned at this. "How funny to remember. I barely recall such stories myself."
"Of course you remember storytelling, Wendy."
"Yes, and liked it very much. But goodness, to think I told you stories about pirates…" She shook her head slightly, still smiling to herself.
"Michael seemed to remember them quite clearly," Tootles explained, looking up at the ceiling as if in hope to capture a glance of what Michael had said. "Fierce pirates, with odd little names. And they fought Indians with feathers and bone jewelry, and painted skin."
"I did have a wild imagination," Wendy responded with a laugh, though the thought of such fairytales were still clouded in her mind. "It's a wonder how such ideas came into my head. Perhaps through some fanatical dream."
"That's what John always said." Tootles glanced at Wendy before looking down and fiddling with his pencil again.
"And why was Michael suddenly bringing up my stories after all this time?"
Tootles nipped at his lower lip, gazing at Wendy with an unreadable stare, but when he opened his mouth to speak, not a word came out.
Wendy sighed once more.
"Tootles, why must I pry everything out of you today?" she asked wonderingly. "Are you and the boys up to something?"
Her brother, seemingly a bit nervous, glanced sideways at Wendy and tucked his hand into his trouser pocket.
"Michael and I f—"
"Wendy." Mrs. Darling's gentle voice suddenly echoed into the dining room from the neighboring foyer, stopping Tootles mid-sentence. "Are you and Tootles nearly finished?"
"Well…not quite," Wendy called back, looking from Tootles down to the half-filled solutions on his paper.
Mrs. Darling's footsteps pursued closer until she appeared at the doorway. She was wearing a long black petticoat, beneath which peeked out the sea green skirts of her day dress and her black leather boots.
"A few more minutes then?" she offered, glancing up at the cuckoo clock hanging against the wall. "It's already 2:30, and you know how timely Aunt Millicent likes to be."
"Alright," Wendy said before turning back to Tootles. "We just have a few more problems left."
Mrs. Darling remained at the doorway while her two children bent over the paper on the table—Tootles now helplessly searching for his error, and Wendy desperately hoping he'd write down "5."
A moment past before more footsteps were heard sweeping down the foyer's staircase.
"I just knew I smelled fresh cookies." John walked past his mother at the doorway and headed straight for the plate of cookies sitting on the table.
"How convenient," Mrs. Darling said with delight, watching her eldest son search for the biggest cookie in the pile. "John can finish up with Tootles, can't he?"
"Why yes, he can," Wendy smiled up at John, whose face suddenly suggested the realization that he'd just been lured into the room purposely. He glanced down at the cookie in his hand and frowned.
"Now then, John," Mrs. Darling went to her son and properly tightened the school tie he had precisely loosened around his neck. "Your father should be home by 4:30. But will you be a dear and help Tootles with the rest of his homework while Nana watches the children in the nursery? You can give each of the boys one cookie, so you and Tootles have already had your share" (at this, Tootles' jaw dropped in astonishment). "At 3:00, give the Twins each one spoonful of the medicine I've set aside on the kitchen counter. And do help Nana tidy up the nursery. I just know the job's getting tedious for her."
"Oh, Mother…" John's thin-wired glasses rose to his eyebrows as his nose scrunched up in a grimace. Wendy found it funny how her oldest brother, after replacing his roundish, thick-rimmed spectacles with this new pair, had suddenly become the spitting image of their father.
"John." Mrs. Darling touched her hand lightly to his cheek before making a sweeping motion towards Wendy. "Be the responsible young man I know you are."
Wendy whispered a low "five" in Tootles' ear before leaving the table and letting a grumbling John fill her seat.
She walked into the foyer with her mother and grabbed her petticoat from the coat rack, silently wishing she could have stayed home with her brothers. Today, Aunt Millicent had called for a "much-needed" afternoon tea with her and Mrs. Darling, and who knew what that meant. More lessons?
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
William didn't want to think about what Abram and Henry were doing without him. He hated missing out, especially on their after school adventures. Where would they be today? The haunted old Wicker mansion, perhaps? Or maybe they were at the front steps of the Girls' Academy, counting how many waves or smiles they got. They could be in the city, buying all the up-to-the-minute gadgets at the modish boutiques, or quite possibly be at Kensington Gardens?
William leaned his head back against the edge of his bed from where he was sitting on the floor, one leg bent upwards and the other outstretched in front of him. From what had grown out of habit the last few days, he brushed his tongue against his inflamed lower lip, feeling for any possible change in size. He had not bothered changing out of his school uniform; he had simply unfastened his vest and the buttons on the collar of his shirt, and his overcoat was sprawled across the floor next to him. He felt his eyelids getting heavy as he watched the green marble he'd been flicking into a nearby wall roll back and forth, back and forth. And if he had learned anything from this time-killing task, it was that the floor was not level—a detail he would not have ever noticed without having been forced to stay within the confines of his home.
It was no surprise that William had been grounded when his parents discovered the story behind his swollen lip. Never had he seen his father so furious, or his mother so heartbroken. But any sorry he could have felt for them vanished when all his father could say was, "Now our dinner with the Couchs will have to be held back!"
And Nicholas…
If William cared about what anyone thought of him, it was Nicholas. It wasn't the anger or sorrow he saw in his parents' eyes (he'd certainly disappointed them other times before and expected it), but the worry in his brother's eyes that made William ashamed, made him want to hide his wounded face and run into his room where he could not be seen. Having to lie to Nicholas and tell him that he'd simply tripped and fallen on the street made him feel even more debasing. But he knew a white lie would be better than the truth.
Even all the guilt he felt at home with Nicholas, however, could not stop William from soaking in the praise he got at the academy. Of course, he had felt initially embarrassed the first day he was to arrive at school with an oversized lower lip, and when he found out that Henry had gotten out of the fight with a mere scratch on the cheek and a little berating from his father, it made him more frustrated than ever. But it was not long before the rumors spread—"how good ol' Will had put that Andrew boy in his place"—and before that first day was over, William had become the deity of the school. Now, it seemed his lip was not the only thing that had swelled up.
William snatched the marble into his hand and threw it against the door forcefully.
"Damn it," he let out with a deep breath, watching the marble roll back several feet away from him.
Before he could plop onto his bed for an impulsively decided nap, a young housemaid came barging into the room.
"What was that appalling knock on your door, sir?" she asked nervously, holding a white wash cloth against her chest.
"Oh, sorry Tessa," William said, sitting on his bed to unlace his shoes. "I was, umm, throwing around a marble that, errr, slipped out of my hand and hit the door."
"Well, sir, it's no use making yourself comfortable," the housemaid told him, eyeing the shoes William had dropped on his bedside. "Mr. Blankworth is here for your piano lesson."
"Perfect."
Slowly, William reached back down for his shoes, knowing that Mr. Blankworth would notice he hadn't been practicing.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"A social."
"A social?" Wendy and her mother said together.
"Yes, a social," Aunt Millicent repeated over her cup of tea. "Saturday evening."
"Well, I assure you, Aunt Millicent," Mrs. Darling said as politely as she could from across the small table they were sitting at, "we've been to them and have several prospects already."
"Yes, yes, yes dear," Aunt Millicent replied hastily, pulling off her white gloves and setting them down on the table. "But why not another opportunity to meet people? Now this one on Saturday evening is being held by my good friend Beatrice, whom I'm sure you've met, Wendy. Isn't she a pleasant lady? Well now, she herself has a daughter, and just last week we were discussing…"
Wendy looked around the crowded tea house, mostly filled with middle-aged women wearing wide-brimmed hats and multi-layered skirts that entirely covered the chairs upon which they sat. All of their voices created a buzzing sound in the room that stayed at a cultured level, and once in a while, there would be a light clanking of china or the opening of the entrance door. Amid this all, Wendy spotted two uniformed servers standing at the back of the room—a girl with a round face, her hair pulled back into a bonnet, and a young man, courteously holding a tea kettle while a beaming white cloth hung over his arm. They were simply talking, but Wendy saw the embarrassed smile that occasionally appeared on the girl's mouth, and the twinkle that glimmered in the young man's eyes as he watched her speak. It was a courtship.
"What do you think of William Locke, Mother?"
The words had slipped out of Wendy's mouth even before she knew what she was saying.
She looked to her mother and aunt, whose conversation had apparently been interrupted by her arbitrary question. Mrs. Darling merely furrowed her eyebrows at Wendy while Aunt Millicent lowered her tea cup and stared at the girl blankly.
"I'm—I'm sorry." Wendy broke the moment of silence that had followed and laughed with discomfort. She looked down at her hands on the table, wringing her fingers together and hoping they would disregard her question.
"William Locke?" Mrs. Darling said softly. She cleared her throat uneasily, trying to find something to add. "A very polite boy, if I can recall…and very nice parents."
"Oh, it was only a silly question, really," Wendy told her mother with a forced smile. "I was just reminded of h—"
"Hmph," Aunt Millicent snorted displeasingly. "William Locke is a mere flaw to his family's stance, if you ask me. A crude, selfish boy who simply doesn't appreciate all he has. I've heard one too many stories of his troublesome ways. Vandalizing buildings, and fighting, for heaven's sake." She shook her head shamefully.
"Oh, now Aunt Millicent, we can't be sure of such things," Mrs. Darling suggested. "You know how gossip runs feverishly in Bloomsbury."
"Well." Aunt Millicent shrugged her shoulders before finishing the last of her tea. "As I was saying before, Mary, do mention the social to George when he gets in today, and let me know if you'd like to attend so that I might inform Beatrice."
"We'll let you know as soon as possible," Mrs. Darling replied, glancing sideways at Wendy.
Aunt Millicent nodded at Mrs. Darling's words, but pressed her hand gently to her chest. Wendy noticed that her face had suddenly turned to one of uneasiness.
"What is it?" Mrs. Darling asked, leaning over the table as if to get a closer look at the woman.
"Oh it's—just some chest congestion I've been having on and off, nothing to worry about," Aunt Millicent insisted, removing her coat from the back of her chair. "Anyway, I—I should be getting home to Slightly soon. He's got the cold, what with this drastically changing weather, and I don't wish to leave him with the nanny too long." She got up from her chair and buttoned up her coat quickly, as if she were trying to avoid any more confrontation.
"A-Alright," Mrs. Darling replied, clearly confused by Aunt Millicent's sudden restlessness. She too rose from her chair to pull on her coat.
Wendy stood up, and while handing Aunt Millicent the gloves she had almost forgotten on the table, eyed her suspiciously. She looked at the slightly pained look on her aunt's face, and offered her mother a concerned glance as they filed out of the tea house.
"Perhaps we'll walk you home, Aunt Millicent," Wendy said as they turned on to the street, where an immediate chill touched her cheeks.
Aunt Millicent did not answer right away. Instead, she wrapped her coat more tightly around her as a wind brushed past, and then quickened her steps.
"Wendy," she finally said a moment later. "There's no need to walk me home. I'm perfectly able t—"
"No, no, we insist," Mrs. Darling cut in, gently pressing her hand against Aunt Millicent's back. "Perhaps we'll pay Slightly a short visit as well."
Aunt Millicent mumbled a nippy "if you wish" before moving ahead of Mrs. Darling and Wendy a few more paces. She did not seem to receive sympathy quite so well.
"Let's keep up now, dear," Mrs. Darling said when Wendy looked to her for an explanation. "We don't want to keep Aunt Millicent from getting home to Slightly."
Before anything else could be said, however, Aunt Millicent suddenly stopped in her tracks. She had dropped her purse, and from behind, Wendy could see her shoulders moving up and down quite heavily.
"Aunt Millicent?" She rushed forward, picking up the purse. On handing it back to her, she saw again the pained look in her aunt's eyes.
"I—I just need to catch my breath," Aunt Millicent murmured, grasping Wendy's arm lightly.
Wendy let out a quiet gasp as Aunt Millicent began staggering forward. She wrapped her arm around the woman's waist to hold her weight and called urgently for her mother.
Mrs. Darling, a panicked and searching stare in her eyes, wrapped her arm around the other side of Aunt Millicent to help. After relieving Wendy of some of the weight, she looked around to anyone walking past.
"Sir, please help us." She tried stopping a man in a long overcoat, who only paused and stared for a moment before offering a cold "I'm late for a meeting" and walking on. She turned quickly to another passerby and pleaded for help, but did not even receive a glance.
Wendy felt helpless watching her mother, and she struggled to look around while holding up a frail Aunt Millicent.
"It's alright," Wendy spoke softly into her aunt's ear, smoke drawing out of her warmth breath as it hit the cold air. And when she mindlessly glanced over her shoulder to continue searching for anyone who could help…
Fate.
Just a few yards behind them, the most prestigious doctor of the town was getting into his carriage.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"We greatly appreciate your generosity," Mrs. Darling thanked Mr. Locke as they headed down the road in a spacious, velvet-interiored carriage.
"Oh, it's a common moral, really," said Mr. Locke, who was sitting next to Aunt Millicent and checking her forehead for a temperature. She was breathing a bit heavily. "Now I have an office in my home, so I think it would be best to go there. It's much closer than the hospital."
Wendy studied Mr. Locke from the corner of her eye. He looked just as high-class as he had at the opera—dark, slicked back hair much like her father's, but with a well-trimmed moustache, a classy top hat to go with his posh black suit, a glimmering silver hand watch just visible beneath his overcoat. He seemed to shine in all his luxury.
They went on for about a half a mile until turning a corner onto a street where there were fewer buildings. A short distance away from the road was a small hill, upon which stood an impressive manor. Wendy was not surprised as the carriage turned onto the brick driveway leading to the prominent home, and she looked with awe as the ivy-covered stone building loomed before them.
They came to a halt directly in front of a set of sandstone stairs, which led to tall, gold-trimmed doors. Before anyone could even step foot out of the carriage, a young maid in a conventional housedress came through the doors and stood promptly at the steps, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Alright, careful now," Mr. Locke said as he helped Aunt Millicent off the carriage. Wendy and Mrs. Darling followed close behind.
"Good afternoon Dr. Locke," the housemaid greeted him before glancing at the others. "I wasn't aware you'd be having visitors. Shall I run more tea?"
"Yes, thank you Tessa," Mr. Locke called back hastily as he walked Aunt Millicent through the doorway. "I have a patient to tend to, so I'll be in the office."
The housemaid Tessa took everyone's coats as they walked into the warming air of a marble-floored entrance hall. Wendy's jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the grand staircase before them, and for a moment she stopped to admire the crystal chandelier hanging from a lofty ceiling that was painted like a starry night sky (which reminded her much of the nursery). The faint sound of music could be heard from somewhere on the floor.
"My office is just this way," Mr. Locke gestured with his hand that was holding Aunt Millicent's to an adjoining room.
They walked into a crimson-themed drawing room that must have been three times as large as that of the Darlings' home—with long windows draped over by heavy velvet curtains, cushiony sofas and gold-trimmed tables, and even a polished grand piano in the corner…
"Father?" A young man rose from the piano bench, cutting short the music that had been sounding in the entrance hall.
Wendy turned her head away quickly. There he was again, looking as refined as he had at the opera, just like his father. William Locke. He was accompanied by an older man wearing a worn blue coat and squinting through gold-wired spectacles.
"You remember the Darlings?" Mr. Locke put forth a hasty introduction as he led the family of women to a door across the room. "You may continue on with your lesson. I'm just going to carry out a brief check-up."
"That's alright, Dr. Locke," the old man replied with a scraggly voice, picking up several music books from the piano. "We've just ended our lesson for today."
"Very well." Mr. Locke opened the door and gestured for Aunt Millicent to enter. Just as he was going to follow her in, he turned back to Wendy and Mrs. Darling with some consideration. "If you wish, perhaps William can entice you to some music or possibly show you to the library while I tend to your aunt."
"Wendy," Mrs. Darling said, turning to her daughter, "perhaps you'll do that? I can stay with Aunt Millicent."
Wendy glanced back at William, who was watching them quietly from beside the piano.
"It's quite alright." She answered in a routine-like manner, courteously smiling and shaking her head in declination.
"Surely you'd be more comfortable here in the drawing room or in the library," Mr. Locke said, returning Wendy's smile, "and I can assure your aunt will be just fine. But if it suits you…?"
Aunt Millicent was seated quietly on a settee in the adjoining office, yet her voice echoed into Wendy's head: Always accept one's hospitality with graciousness. It was one of the first things she had learned in their lessons together.
"Are you sure Aunt Millicent will be alright?" Wendy finally asked, looking over Mr. Locke's shoulder to her aunt in the office.
"I give my word." Mr. Locke said with a grin, mockingly raising his right hand. He looked across the room to William, and gave him a somewhat commanding nod before walking into the office.
Mrs. Darling offered her daughter a heartening smile before following Mr. Locke. Wendy remained at the doorway, watching her join the doctor to where Aunt Millicent was seated. The only ones left in the drawing room were she and William…
"I'll be seeing you next week, Mr. Locke."
…and the piano teacher.
Wendy had almost forgotten he was still standing with William at the piano. He spoke in that same scraggly voice, but in a much more bitter tone than when he had addressed William's father.
"I truly hope you start practicing, having heard the rubbish you gave me today." Wendy watched William scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably as he received his teacher's slating. "I'm sure you don't want to face being hitched from playing at the conservatory next week." The teacher picked up a thin pile of papers lying on the piano top and pushed it against William's chest. "Learn it."
William took the papers into his hands, his lips shut tightly together as if he were forcing back some threatening outcry. Without another word, the piano teacher started off, his music books placed smartly under his arm. His hasty footsteps echoed out into the entrance hall, and when a door was finally heard shutting closed, the room fell silent.
William looked to Wendy and offered her an uneasy grin.
"Mr. Blankworth," he said with a strained hint of amusement, gesturing towards the empty air from which his teacher had left.
Wendy bit gently on her lip and stared in the direction he had motioned to. She could sense his embarrassment.
"I heard your playing as I was coming in," she tried to offer, "and…I thought it was lovely."
This seemed to have worked, for William responded with a self-assured smirk before speaking again.
"Is that your aunt in there?" He pointed to the doorway of his father's office. "I do hope she'll be alright."
"I suppose she will," Wendy answered. "I think she was feeling a bit light-headed, but your father was reassuringly calm, so I trust it's nothing serious."
"That's quite relieving," William said before looking from Wendy to the piano he was still standing by. He smiled. "And tell me, why is it that we must bellow to each other from across the room? Shall I play some music for you?" He motioned to a chair by the piano, presumably for her to sit on. "Or perhaps you'd like me to show you to the library? Or to the garden?"
As he took a few steps toward her, Wendy noticed a yellowish discoloration and slight inflammation in his lower lip, which seemed to even out his normally pouty-like mouth. Only when the young man looked down and warily brushed his tongue over his lip did she realize that she had been staring at the apparent wound for more than a few uncouth seconds. She turned her stare swiftly upon the piano, and opened and closed her mouth several times before finally finding something to say.
"Well—perhaps it's a bit chilly for going out into the garden." She tried hard not to look any lower than his eyes. "I'd be delighted to hear more of your music, at your convenience."
"Of course." William smiled proudly and gestured to the chair by the piano again. "Any particular requests?"
Wendy went to the chair and sat down, smoothing out the crinkles in her dress before looking up at William thoughtfully.
"Well I have to admit, I don't know too much about music," she replied to him. "My mother's the true pianist in our family."
The loud clicking of heels and clanking china were suddenly heard coming in from the entrance hall, and Wendy turned to see Tessa walking briskly into the drawing room with a silver tray of porcelain ware.
"Would you like some tea, Miss?" the housemaid asked from across the room, holding out the tray further in her hands to Wendy's direction. She looked a bit disheveled, with her cheeks pink with warmth and her small white apron tied crookedly around her tiny waist.
"No, thank you," Wendy politely sent off the offer. "I've just come from an afternoon tea."
"Very well. Are they in the office?" Tessa pointed to Mr. Locke's door, but without taking heed to William or Wendy's nods, she quickly rushed towards the office to peek through the crack of the door. "Ah yes," she said quietly to herself before knocking on the door and entering.
"She's new," William said when Tessa had gone. "Can get quite giddy sometimes. Very much seeking the approval of my parents."
"I see," Wendy replied with a laugh.
"Alright, then." William cleared his throat and sat back down on the piano bench, flipping through a music book set before him. "I think we'll go with Rachmaninov."
Wendy watched as William straightened his back and leveled his forearms to the piano keys. He lifted his chin slightly, almost as if in smugness, and after mutely mouthing a count to three, he began playing. A lively, swift-rhythmed tune immediately filled the air as his fingers started dancing urgently over the keys, and he continuously moved his glance from them up to the music book with a hard, concentrated stare. Every part of him seemed to be tense except his flouncing fingers, which produced, Wendy had decided, a sweet-sounding music that was nearly comparable to the most endearing pieces her mother played. Never had she seen fingers move so quickly over piano keys.
When William had finished the piece a few short minutes later, his hard-hitting expression turned into a smirk, and he nodded slightly at the music book, as if he knew he had just given a perfect performance.
"That was the piece that got me recognized at the conservatory," he said, looking at Wendy for approval.
"Well, it seems you don't need me to tell you how wonderful that was." She laughed as William's smirk was suddenly wiped off his face.
"Right, then…" he looked down at the piano, and then at Wendy. "It's your turn."
Wendy narrowed her eyes and grinned. "My turn?"
"Come on. I'll teach you a simple piece." William scooted down the piano bench, looking at her expectantly.
Wendy stared a moment at the vacant end of the piano bench. There's nothing wrong with it, she told herself. He's just being friendly.
But how could she tell this to herself, and still feel doubtful?
"No Rachmaninov, I'm assuming." Wendy saw William's smile widen as she got up to join him at the piano bench. "Now what will you have me doing here?"
She kept her gaze down at the piano keys before her, but now that the two were the closest they'd ever been, Wendy could see from the corner of her eye that William was studying her face. Feeling quite awkward, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat.
"Here, I'll guide you." William finally took his eyes away from her face, but in turn gently brought Wendy's hand to the keys.
Wendy blinked. He kept his hand lightly over hers, and pressed her index finger over a few keys in an unhurried rhythm. The piece was very short, but when he eventually let go of her hand, Wendy could still feel a tingling where he'd left it.
"'Mary Had a Little Lamb,'" Wendy said, smiling. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at William's sapphire-like eyes through a curtain of hair that had fallen out of her bun.
"You know you're music," William said as he lowered his head to Wendy's level. She hadn't noticed just how tall he was until then. The young man brushed Wendy's loose strands of hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ear, and then, to Wendy's surprise, moved his hand to the side of her face and held it there. As he lightly brushed his thumb over her cheek, Wendy closed her eyes and leaned her head slightly more into his hand, but then took hold of his wrist almost as if in defiance.
"Wendy." She heard him whisper her name.
"Oh for heaven's sake!"
Wendy quickly turned her head to Mr. Locke's office door and saw Tessa rushing out of it. Her eyes were welling up in tears and the china on the tray clattered as she tried to hold it with shaking hands.
"What's the matter?" Wendy got up from the piano bench and made her way towards Tessa.
"I-I spilled the t-tea all over Master Loc-Locke's desk!" the housemaid bellowed between hiccups.
Wendy frowned, taking the tray out of Tessa's hands.
"Now I'll r-really be f-fired!" Tessa went on, wiping her eyes now that she had free hands.
"Of course you won't," William chimed in, making his way to the two young women. "We'll just get some towels from the kitchen and help you clean up. There's no use in crying over spilled tea."
"That's right." Wendy smiled sympathetically at Tessa.
As the three headed to the kitchen, Wendy and William exchanged wayward stares.
Author's Note: Well…I know many of you were probably just a wee bit confused by the previous chapter, but no worries, okay? All will be explained in the near future. Speaking of the near future (actually, the really near future), I''ll soon be leaving far far away from home for college, which means that my writing will most likely cease for a time (How long, you ask? Not really sure). And I know how terrible it would be to discontinue this story, so if I want to get this done, that means I'm really gonna have to crank out the chapters. It's hard, considering I hate being rushed when it comes to my writing and this story (as you might guess from my untimely updates), but trust me, I'm trying! Oh, and reviewers, thank you this much: .x. holds out hands really wide .x. I could name you all specifically, but you know who you are! You guys are such great support.